


Peter Knows Best

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Adara Birthday Celebration [22]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Don’t copy to another site, Idiots in Love, M/M, Matchmaker Peter, Matchmaker Peter Hale, Mates, Mutual Pining, POV Outsider, POV Outsider on Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, POV Peter Hale, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-25 23:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17130497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “Don’t hurt the human,” he warned, voice dropping dangerously. “I’m rather fond of him.”The beast nodded, then asked, “And your nephew?”Oh, it would be so easy to rid himself of his problem right now. Kill Derek, and the bond broke. Stiles would be untethered and Peter could swoop in to claim him for himself. But then, Stileswasyoung, and while not old, Peter felt he could never make someone like that happy. Stiles wanted Derek, and nobody else would do.Unfortunately.After a long pause, Peter shrugged slightly. “Just don’t kill him.”





	Peter Knows Best

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adara/gifts).



> Happy Birthday [Adara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adara/pseuds/adara)!!!
> 
> And Happy Holidays~ Have some salty Peter! :) 
> 
> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis

When it came to Derek, Peter couldn’t say he was surprised. After all, he’d never held his nephew in high regard, and was quite honestly shocked that he hadn’t gotten himself killed years ago. Well, the past few years made more sense, but _before_  Derek’s return to Beacon Hills. It was a wonder he’d survived on his own at all.

Since his return, of course it was more understandable. After all, Derek had _him_. One Stiles Stilinski.

Now Peter didn’t like humans. They were boring, and frankly, a waste of his very valuable time. They were not _things_  that Peter often thought of, and he certainly never considered them to be of any importance, let alone a threat.

But Stiles Stilinski was different. Once upon a time, it had been Stiles Stilinski and Lydia Martin, but the plan to turn Lydia had backfired rather horribly. Now not only did she despise him, she was also a Banshee. Most inconvenient.

Stiles, though? He was the only person he’d ever offered the bite to, and actually respected enough _not_  to bite when he’d made it clear his answer was no. There he was, a trembling, terrified sixteen year old, definitely scared out of his mind, but still holding his ground in the face of an Alpha Werewolf. Peter had been impressed.

And everything about Stiles continued to impress him. He was smart, and strong, and resilient. He was the perfect mate in every regard, and Peter was often extremely annoyed at the fact that he would never be his. He could force the bond, and he knew he could, but even _he_  had limits. One did not steal another wolf’s mate, it was bad form. Peter had _some_  regard for the old ways, and he wasn’t willing to do that, even to Derek.

Because of course Derek’s mate would be Stiles. The only reason Derek was still alive after all these years. The only reason Derek had softened around the edges, had decided to start living his life again. Had improved the overall feel of the loft, gone out to get a job, hung out with people _other_  than his pack. Derek was making an effort to be a real boy—Peter was so very proud.

But all of that was because of Stiles. Stiles made Derek want to be better, and in return, Derek helped Stiles understand that he was worth something. And he was. Stiles was worth so many things, and Peter wished he understood that about himself. How much he was worth.

How amazing things could’ve been had there been a difference in mate.

But that was the bitterness in him on having missed out. Because Stiles really was the perfect mate for him, but alas, he belonged to Derek. Or, he would, if Derek would _do something_ about it. Which he hadn’t yet.

After six years.

Derek loved Stiles. It was so tooth-achingly sweet that Peter constantly had to visit the dentist to ensure he didn’t have any cavities. Derek looked at Stiles the way the sheriff looked at curly fries. That is to say, with so much love and adoration that it made everyone else in a ten mile radius extremely uncomfortable.

And for some inexplicable reason, Stiles loved him back. When Stiles looked at Derek, it was like the entire room was standing still and he could see no one but him. Peter felt like Stiles deserved much better than Derek, but anyone with eyes—except his nephew, apparently—could see how far gone for him Stiles was. It made his adoration of Lydia look like a one-night stand, because he’d never looked at her with as much love and want as he’d ever looked at Derek.

But herein lay the problem: Peter knew Derek loved Stiles, and Peter knew Stiles loved Derek. Somehow, despite his amazing intellect, Stiles had failed to notice that Derek loved him. Derek himself was a complete buffoon and Peter was not at all surprised he hadn’t noticed Stiles’ adoration of him.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to hold his tongue around them. He often made offhanded comments about how they were destined to be together, but both of them ignored him or brushed him off—an insulting act, if he weren’t already so used to it. If things didn’t change, Peter was liable to kill someone, and he didn’t want to disappoint Stiles by going on another killing spree. That was the old Peter.

The new Peter was more level, and he liked to think he and Stiles were close friends. So, he couldn’t maim or kill anyone, but he _was_  done watching these two morons dance around each other. Peter had patience, but he wasn’t a saint by any means.

So, today, right now, Peter finally decided he was going to do something about it. He was going to take things into his own hands, and he was going to get his moronic nephew and the definitely-settling, ultra-smart, way-too-good for Derek human together.

Because if he didn’t, he was liable to wring Derek’s neck and steal Stiles all for himself. And nobody wanted that.

* * *

Peter was in the middle of reading an extremely interesting interpretation of the second world war’s cause when the loft door slid open without so much as a cursory knock. He wasn’t surprised, because he’d heard the Jeep pull up to the building, and Stiles didn’t often knock.

And by ‘didn’t often knock,’ that of course meant he wasn’t aware that knocking was a thing. Or so Peter assumed, since he’d never actually seen Stiles do it.

“Where’s Derek?”

“Not even a hello?” Peter tsked, turning the page of his book and continuing to read. “Manners. What would your father say?”

“Nothing, since it related to you,” Stiles insisted, but Peter heard the tease in his tone. “Where’s Derek?” he asked again.

“He went on an errand,” Peter informed him, then motioned a package on the table. “He left that for you. Said you would be coming by to discuss something about the giant spiders in town and to give you that.”

“Really?” Stiles frowned, wandering over to it, eying it suspiciously. “What is it? Is it a bomb? I wouldn’t put it past Derek to try and blow both of us up at the same time.”

“Nor would I, though I’m certain I’d survive.” He glanced over at Stiles, smiling mysteriously. “You I’m not so sure.”

Stiles gave him an annoyed look, but moved to the box anyway, poking it once as if to test it for explosives—it was remarkable how someone so smart could sometimes be so stupid—before carefully unfolding the flaps.

“What? No way!” Stiles pulled out the contents of the small box, which housed a brand new mini super Nintendo Entertainment system. “What the hell, really? This is for me? Why?”

“I don’t pretend to know what goes through my nephew’s head,” Peter informed him, returning to his book with a small smile on his face. “Perhaps he was hoping it would improve your reflexes.”

“Hilarious,” Stiles said dryly. “Shit, this is awesome. Do you wanna play?”

Peter gave him a look and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“What? You’re not too old to play video games, Peter. I know you’re like, ancient, but even dinosaurs like video games.”

Peter stared at him for a while longer. “Leave, before I decide red is a good colour on you.”

“Red _is_  a good colour on me,” Stiles retorted, but he left the notes he’d come over with before heading for the door. “Tell Derek to call me later if he has questions on my notes, okay? He didn’t answer his phone when I tried him before. And tell him thanks!”

“I’m not his secretary,” Peter called while the loft door slid shut. Once he was sure Stiles had left, he reached into his pocket and pulled out Derek’s phone, which he’d stolen before he’d left the loft specifically to ensure what was coming wouldn’t ruin his plans.

He waited exactly ten minutes before a text from Stiles came in.

**[Stiles]**  
dude!!!  
**[Stiles]**  
i can’t believe you got me a snes!  
**[Stiles]**  
THANK YOU!!!!!  
**[Stiles]**  
but uh... why?

**[Derek]**  
Just wanted to do something nice for you.  
**[Derek]**  
You’re welcome.  
**[Derek]**  
Glad you liked it.  
**[Derek]**  
Can’t talk now, I’ll call you later.

He waited for Stiles to respond, and then went through that entire short conversation and deleted every message from both himself and Stiles. Whistling to himself, he got to his feet and wandered to the loft door, stopping by the hook where Derek usually left his jacket. He held it at about waist height, then dropped the phone, letting it land however it pleased before heading towards the kitchen.

Opening one of the cabinets, he pulled out a plastic bag of items he’d gotten from Deaton, and moved to the table, dropping the bag on top of Stiles’ notes. He got rid of the box he’d had the Nintendo in before heading back for the couch. He was there for the remainder of the evening, until well past ten at night. That was when the loft door finally opened and Derek stomped in angrily, muttering under his breath.

“Bad day?” he asked with mock sympathy.

Derek turned to glower at him, and then took a step towards the hook before pausing and looking down. “ _There_  it is,” he muttered to himself, bending down to snatch his phone back up and inspecting it for damage while hanging his jacket up with his free hand. “Must’ve fallen out of my jacket.” He moved further into the loft, then paused when he caught sight of what was on the table.

“What’s that?”

“What makes you think I know?” Peter asked, not looking up from his book. “The spastic human came in like a tornado, sprouted some things about plans he was late for and his phone being dead, and then dropped all that garbage on the table.” He glanced over at him. “You should really invest in a lock, Derek. Anyone can come in without invitation these days.”

“Some people I’d like to keep out more than others,” he responded dryly, moving to the table and shifting the bag over. His face softened when he looked over the notes, letting out a hum as he read through them. Peter just waited, because he figured Derek assumed the bag was full of things related _to_  the notes.

After a while, Derek finally reached into the bag and frowned, pulling out a jar of white powder. “What is this?”

“Where did he get that?” Peter demanded, slamming the book shut and getting to his feet, hurrying forward and snatching it from Derek’s hands. “Oh, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen this.”

“What _is_  it?” Derek asked, snatching it back and scowling at Peter.

“It’s a Wolfsbane cure. It acts as a countermeasure for any kind of Wolfsbane poisoning. It’s very difficult to make, must’ve cost him a small fortune.” And it sure as fuck did, since Deaton was not fond of Peter and had been forced to outsource the request since Deaton himself couldn’t make it.

“Hm,” Derek said, going through the rest of the bag. They were all various little things to help protect Werewolves from various ailments, along with a batch of homemade cookies that Lydia had very kindly offered to donate to the cause.

Peter needed one person to help him with the Stiles side of things, and somehow, he didn’t think the sheriff would be it. Lydia had graciously accepted, mostly because she was just as tired as Peter of how blind the two were to each other’s affections.

Scott was an idiot and hadn’t noticed so he was no help.

“This is really great,” Derek said, voice soft. “Wow.” When he pulled his phone out, Peter snatched it from his hand and gave him a look. Derek scowled, trying to grab for it, but Peter kept it out of reach.

“His phone is dead and he said he was late. He’s likely trying to kill the giant spiders with the incompetent Alpha, would you like to give away his location and cause his demise?”

Derek seemed to hesitate, evidently thinking on it, and finally rolled his eyes and nodded slightly, hand held out insistently. When Peter didn’t hand his phone back, Derek raised his eyebrows. Shrugging, Peter dropped the phone back into his hand and turned to head for the couch.

“Well, he wouldn’t be missed if you were to ignore me and inadvertently kill him. It’d be on your conscience, though.”

Derek was scowling so hard Peter felt like he could _hear_  it, but he was satisfied when Derek shoved his phone into his pocket, gathered up all the items he’d been given, and retreated up to his room with both the bag and the notes.

So far so good. He was sure things would only improve from here.

It wasn’t like Stiles and Derek spoke about personal matters, so it was entirely likely their next face-to-face wouldn’t involve discussions about the game console or the bag of trinkets.

Peter pulled his own phone out, smiling a little.

**[Peter]**  
Success.

**[Lydia]**  
For now.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Peter whispered with a smile, and put his phone away.

* * *

“You understand clearly, correct?” Peter asked the beast in front of him, eying him with distaste. “I’m not paying you to screw this up, so nod and tell me you understand.”

“I’m a professional, Mr. Hale,” the beast before him proclaimed, looking offended. “I’m pretty sure I know how to cause chaos and disappear without a trace.”

“Good. Very good.” Peter checked the time, being sure they were on track. Lydia had convinced the pack to head to a movie, which was starting in just under five minutes. Derek was out getting himself take-out for dinner, and Stiles had been left behind to study for a midterm. Parrish was working, Deaton was out of town at a conference, the sheriff was at a dinner with the mayor and his wife, and Melissa was currently asleep given she would be working from eleven at night to eleven in the morning. Everything was on schedule, and all the players were exactly where they needed to be.

“Remember, you have to disappear once this has concluded. I won’t be responsible for your death because you ignored what I said about the human.”

“I’ve got it under control, this isn’t my first assignment.” The beast before him was clearly beginning to lose patience. Peter would’ve felt bad for insulting his intelligence, but he couldn’t help it. He _looked_  like an idiot, even if he didn’t sound like one. He was actually extremely well spoken, considering.

“We should begin now, then.” Peter pulled out his phone to text Stiles. “I’ll call for him to come, as long as you attack my nephew in a secluded location between his place and here, everything should go according to plan.”

“Understood.”

Peter texted Stiles requesting his immediate assistance. He waited while Stiles typed back, insisting he had a midterm to study for. Peter replied that he didn’t much care if people died, he’d just thought Stiles would. Five seconds later, he got a middle finger emote and a ‘brt.’

“Excellent. He’s on his way.” Peter replaced his phone and shooed the beast towards the door. Just when the other had been about to exit, he called him back. “Don’t hurt the human,” he warned, voice dropping dangerously. “I’m rather fond of him.”

The beast nodded, then asked, “And your nephew?”

Oh, it would be so easy to rid himself of his problem right now. Kill Derek, and the bond broke. Stiles would be untethered and Peter could swoop in to claim him for himself. But then, Stiles _was_  young, and while not old, Peter felt he could never make someone like that happy. Stiles wanted Derek, and nobody else would do.

Unfortunately.

After a long pause, Peter shrugged slightly. “Just don’t kill him.”

With another nod, the beast left. Peter sighed, sitting back down in his chair and picking up a random book within arm’s reach. He was growing quite bored of the books around him lately, he supposed he should raid Stiles’ room. After all, he often left his window unlocked for Derek to sneak in. Peter was positive he could get in the same way, and he was less likely to be shot by the sheriff since everyone would just _assume_  he was Derek.

Peter had just gone to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee when there was loud banging on the stairs. He went to stand in the kitchen doorway, watching the loft door. It was thrown open, Stiles stumbling slightly and supporting a majority of Derek’s weight, one muscled arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“Derek’s hurt!”

“Oh no,” Peter said, monotonous. “How dreadful.” He took a sip of his coffee and headed back for his chair to continue reading.

“Peter!”

“He’ll be fine,” Peter insisted. He’d specifically said _not_  to kill him, hadn’t he? Derek would be fine, so he wasn’t going to worry.

Stiles cursed and stumbled towards the couch, managing to drop Derek onto it. He groaned loudly, and Peter glanced over, frowning a little because the slashes looked to be particularly deep _and_  weren’t healing.

No, wait. No, they were. Just very slowly. Actually, this might work out in his favour.

Peter shut his book and stood, moving over to the couch and bending down beside Stiles, who was about two seconds away from hyperventilating, ripping off his over-shirt and pressing it hard to Derek’s abdomen.

“He’s not going to make it,” Peter said dramatically.

Stiles shot him a filthy look. “Shut up and _help me_! What do we do?!”

“I’m not a doctor,” Peter informed him, cocking an eyebrow. “Perhaps we should call one. Though they might not make it in time.”

Stiles paled. “What?”

“This might be the end for him. Such a shame. Perhaps it’s for the best, he was living a miserable life, anyway.”

Stiles grabbed the front of Peter’s shirt and, in a surprising display of strength, wrenched him forward so they were inches apart. “We’re not letting him die! I’ve never _once_  let Derek die, and I’m not about to start now! _Do_  something!”

“Maybe true love’s kiss will bring him back, I don’t know.” Peter grabbed Stiles’ wrist and squeezed hard enough for him to wince and let his shirt go. “You love him, don’t you? Maybe love is the answer.”

“Don’t be stupid, we need a _real_  solution!”

“You loving him is not a real solution?”

“Me loving him fixes nothing!”

“What?”

“What?!” Stiles shouted, turning to look at Derek, then pausing, realizing he was the one who’d just spoken.

Derek was staring up at him, green eyes locked on Stiles’ face and injuries still there but definitely healing now.

“What did you say?” Derek asked, somewhat incredulously.

Stiles opened and shut his mouth a few times before looking at Peter for help.

Who was he to deny him some help? “I believe he said him loving you fixes nothing.”

Stiles looked like he was ready to murder Peter for repeating those words, but before he got the chance, Derek reached up with one hand, grabbed the back of Stiles’ neck, and wrenched him down. Stiles almost half-fell on him, but their lips were slotted together anyway, and Peter rolled his eyes at the disgusting display, getting to his feet and wandering back to his chair.

“Hallelujah, and all that,” he said to no one in particular, Derek and Stiles continuing to suck face like the other was providing them with oxygen. He sat down in his seat, let out a sigh, and was actually quite pleased. It had only cost him an obscene amount of money buying them both gifts for each other, not to mention coordinating the attack from tonight.

Which he hadn’t told Lydia about because she likely wouldn’t approve. But Stiles and Derek were nothing if not intensely vulnerable to their emotions when one of them was dying.

Usually Derek.

_Speaking of Lydia,_ Peter realized, pulling his phone out.

**[Peter]**  
Success.

He glanced up to see if they were still making out and rolled his eyes in disgust. Children. No respect for their elders. Peter was sitting _right there_.

He glanced back down when Lydia replied.

**[Lydia]**  
For now.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” he said, then opened the camera function and snapped a picture of the disgusting couple. Stiles was almost _on top_ of Derek.

Seriously, no respect.

Peter sent the picture along to Lydia, then followed it up with another message.

**[Peter]**  
As I said: success.

**[Lydia]**  
Thank God.  
**[Lydia]**  
Never text me again.

All the youths in this pack were rude. Peter was never doing them any favours again.

Except Stiles.

Stiles could get favours, though he likely wouldn’t need another one for a long, long time.

Peter put his phone away, then sighed, looking back over at the two men.

“Seriously? I’m sitting right here.”

So rude.

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Come chill with me on [Tumblr](https://isthatbloodonhisshirt.tumblr.com/).  
> (If it still exists by the time you read this lol)


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